Rainy Days and Quaint Cafés
by nocturneforest
Summary: Captain Swan coffee shop AU. Super Fluffy. Emma meets Killian in a café.
1. Passing Notes

Great, another rainy day. Emma swan sighed as she rolled over in her bed, sleepily pulling her covers over her body. The sound of the rain pattering on the roof and windows kept her from drifting back to sleep.

It had been raining for the past few weeks, and the rain didn't seem like it would stop anytime within the near future. By this point, everything was soaked - the pavement was constantly wet, and within Emma had grown the sort of chill that gets into your bones. For the most part, Emma didn't mind the rain - but after weeks and weeks of it she'd had enough.

Along with the rain, it didn't help that it was bitterly cold out as well. October had rolled into Storybrooke like a fog, covering everything in a strange sort of haze that seemed to slow the passage of time.

Emma sat up in her bed, slowly wrapping her white duvet around her body, drawing her warmth into her. After building up enough courage, she finally let go of her duvet, and put her feet down on the bare hardwood floors. A shiver ran through her body with this, and she hurried over to the closet to get changed.

She chose out a white knit sweater and slipped it on after pulling on her jeans (and a pair of fuzzy socks), before heading into the kitchen to make herself her morning cup of coffee.

She'd been living in Storybrooke for the past three years now, after one of her cases brought here to the small but charming town. She'd been a bail bonds person for majority of her life, but there was something that drew her to Storybrooke, and so eventually she gave in and made her life here. She had made a couple of friends since her arrival - for her first year in the town she lived with her friend Mary Margaret, but when Mary Margaret ended up getting married, Emma moved out and got an apartment on her own. It was a quaint little apartment, with a view that looked out onto the forest, which was now exploding in vibrant hues of red and orange as the leaves changed with the season. The woman in the apartment below her, Elsa, had become one of her best friends.

She had also gotten a job at the station. She was a sheriff, but seeing as Storybrooke didn't have all that much crime, it mostly just meant loads and loads of paperwork. Oh, and parking tickets, but she hated giving those out. For the past few days, because of the rain, she'd been doing all of her paperwork at her loft.

Emma took two heaping spoonfuls of ground up coffee beans and put them into her coffee maker, pressed the 'brew' button, put a mug under it and waited. Nothing happened.

She checked to see if it was plugged in (it was), and that there was water in it (there was), before opening up the compartment again that the ground up beans were supposed to go into. There appeared to be nothing wrong with that either, but for some reason, when she pressed the 'brew' button once more, nothing happened.

'Shit' Emma swore under her breath. This was the last thing she needed this morning. Now, she _had_ to go out of the house if she wanted her coffee (which, she definitely did - she hadn't gone a day without a cup of coffee first thing in the morning in years). Grudgingly, she went over to the door and pulled on her boots, tied the laces, and then slipped on her warm grey coat, and topped the outfit off with her beanie. She walked out of her apartment, down the four flights of stairs, and prepped herself for the cold before stepping out the door.

Emma yanked open the big, wooden door of the coffee shop, and shivered, before brushing off the raindrops that had settled on her coat. She was completely soaked from head to toe from her walk to the café in the pouring rain.

The café had that sort of early morning bustle about it as most cafés do early on a Tuesday morning. The air was warm and smelled sweetly of coffee and freshly baked goods. Towards the front the baristas were hard at work, concocting all sorts of drinks from lattés to hot chocolates. Across from the counter was a wall of exposed brick, with pictures of coffee and coffee beans hung up onto it. Tables were scattered about the entire café, every one occupied by somebody either busy at work, reading the paper, or chattering with whoever they were with. In fact, the whole café was filled with that sound of indistinct chatter, with a hint of some soft piano music playing in the background.

"What can I get for you?" The question of the barista broke Emma's trance, anchoring her back down to reality.

"Oh uh sorry." Emma glanced up at the menu, getting lost in all the options, before eventually giving in and just ordering a black coffee.

The barista passed Emma the cup of steaming hot liquid, and Emma transferred a handful of change into their hand before making her way over to the other counter to make up her coffee.

She ripped a couple packets of sugar and poured them into her coffee, and then reached over for the milk, only to find someone else was using it.

"Oh, sorry." She heard a voice apologize, and looked up to find the the man who spoke.

He had the most wonderful blue eyes - at least that's the first thing that she noticed - his eyes. They were deep blue, like the colour of the sea. His hair was dark brown, and rested messily on his forehead - it looked at if he'd just gotten out of bed and was yet to be combed.

Emma swallowed, a lump in her throat, still caught up in his gaze.

"Oh uh… that's okay." She murmured before he passed her the milk, giving her a gentle smile along with it. Not wanting to seem creepy, she returned to her coffee, poured a splash of milk into it, gave it a quick stir, and then went to go find a seat.

The café had an area that curved around the back, separate from the rest of the café. One of the walls was made of a grande mahogany bookshelf, two of the other walls were the same exposed brick, and one wall wasn't a wall at all - rather three giant windows that reached all the way from the floor to the ceiling. The rain pelted on the windows, reminding Emma that it was, in fact, still raining (as if her soaking wet jacket would allow her to forget).

She found herself a table next to the bookshelf - the last available seat in the whole café. She figured if she was going to be out of the house to get coffee, she may as well enjoy herself whilst here.

Scanning the bookshelf she pulled out the first book that caught her eye - it had 'The Savior' written across it in big, bold letters. She flipped over the leather bound book and read the back cover.

'Anna's life is everything but extraordinary. Until one day, on her 28th birthday

she makes a wish and the next thing she knows the child she gave up for adoption 10 years ago shows up on her doorstep telling her that she is the savior, and must help him in his attempts to save a town of fairy tale characters who have been yanked from their world and frozen in time - all as part of a curse cast by the evil queen. Will Anna accept her role as the saviour and be able to save the town and everyone in it? Or will the town be cursed and stuck in time forever? And will there be perhaps a hint of romance along the way?

Emma rolled her eyes slightly at the premise, but continued on to read some of the comments from famous authors.

'Unlike anything I've ever read before - thrilling, romantic and dramatic 'The Saviour' keeps you on the edge of your seat at all times, curious to find out what will happen next. I'd definitely recommend this to anyone with a certain taste for adventure.' - A. Hopper

She was almost at the second comment when the sound of someone clearing their throat startled her, ripping her from the book. She glanced up to find the same stranger with the deep blue eyes staring back at her.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but, you don't think it would be possible that I could sit with you, would it? There's not any other empty chairs, I promise I won't say a word." The man said, softly.

For the first time, Emma got a good look at him. He was wearing all dark clothes - a black leather jacket, with a dark blue shirt underneath. He had a slight bit of scruffy facial hair, and his ears were pierced.

"Oh, yeah. For sure." She bit her lip, before quickly returning back to her book to hide her face as her cheeks begun to turn scarlet red.

She wasn't really reading, though she pretended to. He sips his coffee across from her, before he himself pulls a book of the shelf. She attempts not to be so obvious in her glances, as she reads the title of his book. It too is bound in leather, and reads 'The Pirate'. The two of their books appear almost as if they could be paired together, in a series, or perhaps written by the same author.

The man across from her pulls out a notebook from his pocket, rips out a page, and then scribbles something down. Ever so slowly, he returns to the book, and with his other hand, slides the paper across the table to where she is sitting.

It is folded in half when it reaches her, and she shoots him a curious glance before unfolding it to see the message he's written to her scribbled on it.

How's the book? - K

She reads it over once, twice, three times, before looking up to him again. He smiles, and raises one of his eyebrows, before sliding the pen to her.

She takes a moment to think up a response before scribbling it under his writing.

Pretty good thanks, how's yours? - E

Slowly, she folds the paper and slides it back over to him. She pretends to pick up her book and read again, but is watching him as he reads her response and eventually writes his own before sliding the paper back to her.

Good thanks. It's about a pirate. He lives on a boat. What's yours about? How's your coffee? - K

She takes a moment to read his response, before writing her own.

Pirates. That's some scary stuff, huh? Mines about a saviour. And fairy tales. Coffee's good. Yours? - E

It takes the man about five seconds to respond and slide the paper back. They continue their conversation on the piece of paper, continually passing it back and forth in between their reading.

GOod. - K

So… - E

Can I ask your name? - K

Emma. Yours? - E

Kilian. It's sort of old fashioned, I know. - K

Why are we writing instead of talking? - E

I said I wouldn't say a word to you, remember? - K

Well… I won't be _mad_ at you for talking to me. - E

Yes, but I made a promise. Plus, I like your handwriting, and watching you _pretend_ to read. - K

I'm not _pretending._ \- E

Yes you are, or else you wouldn't be staring at me every 3 seconds. - K

… - E

I tell you what, Emma. Tomorrow, my promise to you not to talk to you will no longer stand, since it only really stood for today. Maybe you'd perhaps be interested in meeting me here again? - K

Yeah… I think I'd like that. -E

Good. I'll be here around 9? - K

Sure thing. - E

:) - K

Emma gave a small laugh at the awkwardly drawn smiley face Killian had scribbled onto the (third) piece of paper containing their conversation. She closed up her book, slid it back onto it's spot on the bookshelf, stood up, buttoned up her jacket, grabbed her coffee, gave Killian one last small smile, and then left the café, going back out into the rain.


	2. Falling Slowly

Killian rolled out of bed groggily, a smile on his face for the first time in months. Ever since yesterday morning, his head had been flooded with thoughts of Emma, everything from the way that she smiled, and the way her eyes had continued to leave the page of her book to look up at him, to the way that she bit her lip ever so slightly as she wrote her notes back to him. There was something resonant about her, something that stuck in his memory. Something about her that he hadn't been able to shake.

And now, he was going to see her again.

As he got dressed and prepared himself to go meet her, he found he'd somehow been overcome with a bizarre feeling, like something light was sitting uneasily at the centre of his core. He tried his best to push the feeling out of his mind as he brushed his teeth and washed his face, but by the time he was pulling on his jacket, he was no longer able to deny it. He was nervous.

He hadn't felt nervous to talk to a girl since he was a teenager, and yet, here he was, butterflies in his stomach, hands clammy and shaking ever so slightly as he left his apartment and made his way to the café to meet her.

This morning's rain was heavy, and didn't show any signs of slowing up any time soon, though that's how it almost always was in Storybrooke, especially around winter. It wasn't cold enough to be snow _quite_ yet, but soon enough the entire town would be coated in a crystalline blanket of white, and an incessant 'hush' as the winter stole it's volume and coated in in quiet.

He walked through the streets as the rain fell around him, and as he turned the corner, not only did the café where he was supposed to meet her come into view, but so did she, as she too neared the doors of the café from the other side of the street.

Instantly upon making eye contact with him, she lit up in a big smile, unlike any smile he'd seen before. Her hair was dripping wet from the rain, and hung down upon her shoulders, resting gently on her equally as soaked clothes. She picked up her pace ever so slightly as she got closer to him, and before he knew it she was only inches away from him, her striking green eyes staring up at his.

"Killian!" She breathed out as she reached him.

Suddenly, he found himself at a loss for words, as the knot in his stomach tightened. He felt so stupid. She was possibly the most stunning woman he'd ever met, and yet, here he was, unable to utter a single word to her. He gave her a small smile before raising his hand to scratch behind his ear, a nervous tick he'd picked up over the years.

"So should we uh, go inside?" Emma suggested, nearing the door of the café.

"Of course." His words finally returned to him, as he reached for the large wooden door and pulled it open by its brass handle, holding it open for her.

A wave of warmth hit him as he followed her into the café, accompanied by the familiar aroma of ground up coffee beans and the sound of indiscernible chatter. Everything about the café was exactly the same as it had been yesterday morning, except this time something was different; he was here with Emma.

"So," he said, feeling slightly more comfortable in his own skin now that they were inside, "What can I get you Emma?"

The two filed into the line, with a bunch of other people, and stared up at the lit up menus that hung on the exposed brick behind the barista.

"Oh, no that's okay Killian, I can pay." She responded quickly.

"No, don't worry about it. I wouldn't be a gentleman if I didn't."

"But if you pay then that makes this a date." She begins to argue.

"No, it makes me polite. And judging by my nerves, I already thought this was a date, or did I misread things?" He slowly felt his confidence began to crumble. What if she didn't like him at all, he thought to himself? What if he was completely wrong about everything?

"No, no you didn't misread things. I had _hoped_ it was, I just… wasn't sure." Her words hit him like a wave; she'd _hoped_ it was a date. Slowly, he could feel his confidence building back up, and with it, the butterflies slowly returned as well.

"I'm sorry I'm… not good at this." She added, biting her lip, and turning her head up towards the menu once more.

"That's okay." He tried his best to reassure her, and could feel his cheeks slowly getting hot. They'd not even been in the café for two minutes and things were already going pretty terribly.

"How about I let you surprise me, and I'll go get us a table?" She offered.

"Good idea." He smiled at her and she turned to go, stopping in her tracks after taking a step.

"And women _can_ pay for dates, you know, it's the twenty first century." She added, turning back to look at him.

"I know," he smiled, "I'll let you pay next time."

"Next time?" She tilted her head to the side, playfully, "You're optimistic."

Killian gave a small laugh at that, before raising one of his eyebrows at her and giving her a small smirk, which elicited a laugh from her in response.

"I'll go get us a table, Killian." She smiled, and turned to go.

He could feel his heart pounding with each beat in his chest as he watched her leave, and disappear into the busy coffee shop, his attention turning back to the menu. Did he really just insinuate that they'd have another date, where she would pay? His face felt really warm, as it continued to blush. He hadn't been embarrassed like this in a really long time either. Soon enough it was his turn, so he stepped up to the counter to order their drinks.


	3. Hot Chocolate And Cinnamon

Killian rounded the corner of the café, coming into Emma's view, two mugs in his hands. Finding her in the crowded room, in the same spot where they'd met yesterday, he sat down, and slid her one of the two mugs. Both mugs, she instantly noticed, were topped with heaps of fluffy whipped cream and a dusting of cinnamon.

"Hot chocolate?" She challenged him, raising an eyebrow before taking a finger full of the cream and popping it into her mouth.

"Nothing better for a rainy day, and a cold one at that." He said, his attention drifting briefly to the window and the storm outside.

She clutched the mug close to her, a small shiver running up her spine. The rain had soaked her through on the walk here, so she remained mostly sopping wet. The warmth of the hot chocolate helped to remedy this as she sipped it, it's liquid warmth warming her core.

"So, Killian," She began, attempting to make conversation, "What do you do?"

"I'm sure that's of no interest to you, Emma. Boring stuff, really." He has this air of ease about him, as if he's gone on first dates hundreds of times. She studies him for a moment, before returning to her drink, and sipping more of the sweet chocolate.

She hadn't gone on a date like this in years, let alone months. As nice as Storybrooke was, there wasn't really an abundance of attractive, dateable guys, especially given its size. Almost everyone in the town knew each other, so it was unusual to see a new face like Killian's.

"Alright then," She tried to continue the conversation, "Well, then when did you move to Storybrooke? I haven't seen your face around here before so…" Her sentence trailed off as she waited for an answer from him.

"Moved in a couple months back. I was looking for a change; I used to live on the west coast, but I needed to get away, I'd lived there all my life." He explained breezily, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his dark, wet hair.

"Wanting a change? I get that." She responded, thinking back to when she'd first decided to move to storybrooke. As nice as boston had been, the city life had been beginning to get to her. Everything was always too loud, too big, too crowded. But in Storybrooke things were simpler. In Storybrooke, she had room to breathe.

"So, Emma, tell me about yourself then." He said, cocking his head to one side.

"Not all that much to tell, to be honest. I lived in boston, when a case I was working on brought me here, I've lived here ever since." Obviously, there was much more to her than she included in her simplified version of her life, but she didn't care to burden him with the details of her childhood in which she hopped from foster home to foster home.

"I'm sure there's more to you than just that, _love._ " He calls her 'love' and she could feel it catch in her breath - it had been ages since anyone had called her a pet name, let alone someone as attractive as Killian.

"Not really, no." she lied again, not wanting to spill out her entire life story to him.

" _Really?_ " He leaned in, his elbows resting on the table, his face not too far from hers now, "Because I'd be willing to wager there's much more to you than what you give off Emma."

"Swan." She responded, causing him to raise his eyebrow in a curious response, "Swan. It's my last name." She explained.

"Swan. I like that. I think it suits you." He grinned.

"Thanks Killian…" She trailed off, waiting for him to give her his last name in response. She didn't have his number, and she sure as hell wasn't going to leave this café without at least knowing his full name.

"Jones." He filled in the gap.

"Killian Jones." She smiled, "Sounds like the name of knight. Or a pirate." She joked.

"That would be interesting, wouldn't it lass. Alas, my life hasn't been nearly as interesting, though my father did own a ship when I was younger." He explained, and suddenly she couldn't shake the image of him on a ship from her head.

" _Really?_ " She pressed, "I think you'd make a good pirate. Going around, stealing things, maybe you'd even have a hook for a hand. You already practically have the looks for -" suddenly she was cut off by the ring of her phone, which immediately made her cringe. If there was ever a bad time to get a call for work, now was it. That was one of the downsides with being Storybrooke's one and only sherriff; you never really got a day off.

"Crap." She said, reaching into her pocket, "I'm sorry, I have to take this, it's work." She explained, before shooting him an apologetic glance and picking up her phone.

She listened to the person on the other end of the phone, a panicked tone in their voice. It was your typical case, an overnight car theft. None of the cases in storybrooke are ever anything serious, mostly just some thefts. They'd been increasing at a steady rate over the past couple months, but whoever it was that was stealing was smart; they never left any traces, no fingerprints or footprints, no real signs of damage, mostly just some stolen goods - phones, jewelry, things like that. Either way, she knew she'd have to go down to the scene to check it out, which meant flaking out on her date with Killian.

"I'm so sorry about that." She said, hanging up the phone and tucking it into her pocket once more.

"Important call, I take it?" He inquired.

"Kind of, yeah. I'm… I'm really sorry to do this Killian but I kind of have to go." She explained, standing up and pulling on her jacket.

"Go?" He asked, leaning back in his chair, "You have somewhere to be?"

"I didn't… until now. I'm…" She trailed off, knowing she won't be able to leave him without some form of explanation.

"I'm the sheriff." She said, sitting back down for a moment so she could explain.

"The sheriff?" He asked, raising his eyebrow, "Of Storybrooke?"

"Yeah. We've been having a couple of break-ins and I thought it would be fine, but there was another one last night so I have to go check it out." She felt really bad for just leaving him like this; they'd barely had a chance to talk, after all.

"Alright then. Well, I trust I'll see you again?" He asked her, standing as she did.

"Do you have a phone number I can reach you at?" She asked, hopefully.

"Alas, I don't." He responded, "But I'll get a note to you one way or the other sometime soon, okay?"

She found it strange that he didn't have a phone, this was the twenty-first century after all, who didn't have a phone?

"Sure, I'd like that." She didn't know quite what he meant by 'get a note' to her, but either way, she decided it would just be best for her to trust that he'd contact her soon.

"Well then, I'll see you later, Swan." He grinned, reaching out his hand to shake hers.

She took his hand, which instantly warmed up her cold fingers, and shook it, before giving him one final smile, and disappearing into the café, before heading out once more into the pouring rain.


	4. Snowy Sundays

The kettle on the stove let out a long hiss as it reached a boil. Everything in the apartment was soft and quiet this afternoon; it was sunday, after all. Emma reached for the kettle, taking it off the stove before moving over to the counter, where her mug awaited, the tea bag already placed into it. She poured the water into her mug, watching as the scalding water slowly turned into Earl Grey tea as it made contact with the tea bag, and let out a dancing ribbon of steam along with it. Outside the window of her apartment snow fell in large flakes, twirling around before they eventually hit the ground. November was still a week away, but the weather didn't seem to care that it was still technically autumn, and so the world outside slowly became covered in a light dusting of snow, like powdered sugar sprinkled on top of a cake, as the sunday afternoon went on. It wasn't supposed to lighten up any time soon either; the weatherman on the radio had announced they could expect at least half a foot of snow overnight.

Emma stood by the counter, lifting her tea bag up and down as the staticky radio on the other end of the apartment quietly played classical music - tchaikovsky's 'swan lake' - in the background. It had been just over three weeks since she'd last heard from Killian, from their date in the coffee shop. He'd promised he would drop her a note, and yet there was no sign of him anywhere to be found. Like a ghost, he'd vanished. By the end of the first week, she figured he'd just been busy, by the end of the second, she figured he'd simply forgot, by the end of the third, she was sure he had had no intention of contacting her again in the first place. So, just like that, she tried to rid herself of the thoughts of the man at the café. She tried to shake the image of his blue eyes and the way that he leaned back in his chair when he was listening to her. She tried to shake the image of the way he smiled, and the way he concentrated when he was writing notes to her; and yet, try as she might, there was still a part of her that clutched onto him. A part of her didn't _want_ to forget, didn't want to let go. She'd barely known him, after all.

Moving to the fridge, Emma grabbed the milk, and poured it into her tea. She watched as it swirled into the dark liquid, creating a galaxy of its own, before adding in two lumps of sugar to the galaxy tea to sweeten it. She was just about to take a sip from her mug when a soft knock at her apartment door stopped her, and she swept across the room to get it.

Opening the door, she was greeted by Elsa, who she hadn't seen in a couple of weeks. She'd been so caught up in work after all; the robberies hadn't stopped, only gotten worse. Over the last couple weeks she had more calls than ever about the thefts, and, as always, the thief hadn't left a trace. In the midst of it all, she'd forgotten to visit Elsa like she usually did.

"Elsa!" She hugged her friend, suddenly feeling overcome with guilt for dropping off the face of the planet for the past while.

"Come in! God, I'm so sorry I haven't seen you in a while, I've just been so busy with work and things and, you know.." Emma trailed off, as she stood by the door and watched as Elsa took off her snow covered jacket and hung it up.

"Don't worry about it!" One thing Emma had always loved about Elsa was her ability to be understanding. They'd only become friends in the last two years, when Emma had moved into her new apartment, but in those two years they'd become as close as ever. Once a month, Elsa would come over and they'd watch a movie together - normally one form of disney movie or another of elsa's choosing.

"This isn't a bad time, is it?" Elsa asked, even though her coat was already off.

"Oh no, not at all. I was just having tea, do you want some?" Emma offered, before heading back over to her mug and taking a sip of the sweet, warm, tea.

"I'm alright thanks." Elsa said, making her way over to the bar where she took a seat on a bar stool. Once seated, she reached into her sweater pocket, and pulled out a bunch of envelopes.

"Here - I got your mail for you." She placed the pile of mail out onto the counter, before reaching into her pocket once more, a small packet of cookies emerging in here hand.

"Aaand I made some cookies and thought you'd like some." She offered, placing them onto the counter. Emma smiled before reaching for the packet and taking out one of the cookies - chocolate chip, her favourite - and taking a bite out of it.

"Thanks, Elsa." She offered Elsa a cookie, to which Elsa declined.

"So, what have you been up to these past couple weeks? It's not really like you to disappear like that…" Elsa asked.

"I know, I know I'm sorry. I meant to text you, I really did. Things have just been so hectic lately. Lots of things to do for work, and then there's this… guy I met a couple weeks ago…" Emma lets herself trail off, somewhat regretting bringing up Killian, fully knowing that she shouldn't have brought it up in the first place. There was no point in telling Elsa about him, especially given that she'd likely never see him again.

"Guy? What guy? Emma, you have to tell me these things!" Elsa said excitedly; she was always the type to get giddy whenever Emma had news.

"I know, I know. But, it doesn't look like it's going to go anywhere. We met at the café, you know, the one down on 5th street? Well we met about three weeks ago and… the first time we met he didn't talk to me, he just passed me notes… and then we agreed to meet up the next day, so we kind of… went on a date. But then I got a call and had to leave early and he said he'd drop me a note… but no news from him yet so I guess it's not happening." She felt pathetic telling Elsa the whole story, and even more so for allowing herself to get her hopes up over someone she'd just met twice.

"Oh Em, I'm sure he'll give you a note soon. Or maybe he's just been really busy? You never know, maybe he got a call from one of his relatives in another state or -"

"I don't think so. I don't know, for some reason I just have a bad feeling about it. It could be nothing though, or maybe he just didn't have a good time." She bit her lip, staring down at her mug of tea.

The conversation eventually drifts away from Killian to Elsa's life, how her sister was about to get married, and then back to the robberies around Storybrooke. The two of them end up spending the rest of the evening reminiscing about their childhoods (well, mostly Elsa reminisces, Emma didn't have much to reminisce about, unless you count drifting from foster home to foster home), and eventually end up on the floor of the apartment, playing scrabble. They didn't end up finishing the game, as soon the sun had drifted below the horizon, and night had fallen upon them. Hungry, they made some spaghetti for dinner and ate it at the bar stools, and finished off the night by watching one of the Captain America movies.

When all was said and done, Elsa rose from the sofa, with a sigh. Emma followed Elsa to the door of the apartment.

"I guess I'd better head home, but I'll catch up with you soon." She smiled, surprising Emma with a hug before slinging her jacket over her arm, and opening the apartment door.

"Thanks so much. I needed this." Emma said, and with one last hug, Elsa left the apartment, disappearing into the stairwell.

Her apartment now feeling strangely empty with the absence of her best friend, Emma stacked the plates from their dinner and cleaned up the scrabble board, before going into her room to go to bed. Once in her room, she slipped off her pants, opting to just sleep in her sweater, crawled into bed and turned out the light.

Her efforts to sleep, however, didn't go nearly as well as planned. She tossed and turned for the better half of an hour, unable to sleep due to the thoughts flooding her mind. A part of her felt very uneasy, as is something deep in her core had been churning round and round, keeping her awake.

Eventually giving up, she slipped out of bed, and wrapped her duvet cover around her arms to keep her warm. She wandered into the kitchen, and began to put the kettle on to make tea in hopes that somehow that would help her to get to sleep. She turned to the other counter, leaning against it as she waited for her water to boil, when the pile of mail that Elsa had delivered caught her eye. She grabbed it in her hand, moving over to the sofa by the window, where she watched the snowflakes dance down to the street below, illuminated by the warm lamplight. She rifled through the mail: bills, taxes, flyers - when something caught her eye. Slightly crumpled, towards the bottom of the pile, was a piece of parchment that looked worn and aged, covered in sloppy handwriting that she recognized instantly. Handwriting like that would be impossible to forget, especially after she'd spent awhile talking to the person who'd written it. It was messy and smudged, but undoubtedly belonged to Killian.


	5. In Dreary Dancing Passed Us Whirled

_Swan -_

 _I apologize for taking a long time to contact you. It was bad form, and I'm sorry for leaving you hanging like that for so long. I'd really like to see you again, if you'd have me. I'll be at the docks tomorrow around two in the afternoon. If you happen to be there as well, perhaps we could do something fun. If not, I understand perfectly and I'm sorry for wasting your time._

 _Signed,_

 _Killian_

 _P.S. I'm sorry :(_

Emma's lips curled up into a smile after reading it once, a small laugh escaping her lips at the sight of Killian's poorly drawn sad face. Her eyes grazed over it once, twice, three times more, until the words were firmly etched into her mind. For a moment, however brief that moment, she let herself get her hopes up - let herself get excited. The thought of him was enough to make her heart flutter; a feeling she hadn't felt in quite some time. But then, of course, there was the other half of herself that pressed the other way - the half that constantly reminded her to be cautious, not to get her hopes up, not to trust anybody. It was as if she existed in two separate sides of the same fabric; one half of her yearning to finally connect with someone again, and the other half consumed with the fear of being abandoned in the way she always was as a child. One thing was for sure though: both halves of her were being pulled in different directions.

She sat staring at the note for a couple minutes, unsure of what to do next. As badly as she'd wanted to go tomorrow, a part of her still remained untrusting at the fact that he'd been three weeks without a word.

She was dragged out of her trance as the kettle reaches a steady boil, and so she swept across the apartment to pour it into her mug. She stared at her tea as it steeped, trying to make up her mind about what the best course of action would be. As unsure about this as she was, a part of her still knew she would have to go tomorrow. She hadn't been able to get him off her mind for the past three weeks, and for someone that she'd only met twice, that was a pretty good sign. She hated that she knew she'd have to go see him again, hated that she was giving in to whatever feeling was unsettling her heart.

By the time that the tea had been steeped, she'd made up her mind. She'd see Killian again tomorrow.

Emma woke from her slumber, being pulled back to the earth as beams of the early morning light began to stream into her room with the rising sun. The air of her room was frigid; she'd accidentally left the window open the night before. With a groan, she pulled her duvet cover over her head, not wanting to get up. If there was one thing she hated, it was mornings.

But this morning was ever so slightly different; she was going to meet Killian. A slight feeling of uneasiness rested within her stomach. She couldn't tell if it was just butterflies or uneasiness over the fact that Killian had just left her hanging like that for three weeks - either way, a part of

her felt slightly unsettled.

She got up from bed, went into the kitchen, and made her coffee, before sitting down on the sofa with a book. She ended up spending the next couple hours reading her book, as she drank three cups of coffee. By the time she'd finished her book it was already noon, so she quickly went to shower and get ready.

The jitters had settled in once she was out of the shower and changed - though there was no doubt that they were partly at the fault of the three cups of coffee she'd drunk. While she normally would hunger for lunch at this time of day, the feeling of uneasiness from her had pushed away her appetite, and so with nothing left to do, she slipped on her red leather jacket and made her way out the door of her apartment, into the cold late october air.

As she walked outside, she quickly found that last night's snow had continued overnight, and into the early afternoon. Snow fell around her in large puffy flakes - far too much snow for this time of year. The ground was covered in a couple centimeters of snow, which made walking quite the feat as she made her way over to the docks, her hands stuffed into her pockets. The light grey sky hung low above her, as the world around her was coated in a fluffy white blanket of snow.

The wind in the air picked up as she got closer to the docks, the sea breeze making her all the more cold. Holding her arms around her body, she scanned the docks for Killian, who was nowhere in sight. In fact, nobody was anywhere in sight - the docks were entirely deserted. If there was one thing Storybrooke residents weren't accustomed to, it was the snow. Being a town close to the sea, they didn't often get this much snow, let alone this early in the year. In response to this, it seemed that almost every resident in Storybrooke had stayed within the warmth of their houses. The familiar hum of the city had dulled, no cars went by, no people were out walking. Emma thought about the people in Storybrooke, likely tucked away into the warmth of their living rooms, surrounded by family members, protected from the snow outside; she felt envious of them.

"Swan." Killian's familiar voice pulled Emma out of her reverie, causing her to spin around to face him in response. He was covered in snow from head to foot. His shoulders had a decently sized layer of snow on them, his hair was covered in delicate flakes, some of the snowflakes had even rested on his eyelashes. And yet, despite all the snow, and the frigid air, he appeared seemingly unaffected, a large smile spread across his face at the sight of her.

"Killian." She found herself instantly captivated by his icy blue eyes that seemed to match the feeling of cold as it surrounded them. Instantly, she could tell that coming here was a mistake, seeing him was a mistake, as she quickly felt herself falling back into his lure. Everything about him was _warm_ \- filled her with this feeling of _warmth_ simply by being around him. Somehow, with one glance at him, and the sound of his voice, she no longer felt the frigidity of the air; no longer felt cold to the core.

"I knew you'd come." He raised one of his eyebrows at her, tilting his head to the side a little bit.

"You uh… chose a great day for this." Emma said sarcastically, taking her arm away from her chest for a moment to gesture to the snow - an action in which she instantly regretted as a wave of cold hit her once more, causing her to quickly bring her arm back to it's original position in response.

"Why, are you cold?" Killian asked, removing his leather jacket from his shoulders without a moment's notice. Taking a step closer, he wrapped it around her shoulders. She could instantly feel it's weight as it settled upon her, but along with it's weight came it's warmth. For some reason, there was always something so much better about wearing other people's clothes.

"There," he said, stepping back, "That should help."

"Thank you, Killian." She could feel her cheeks getting hot, so in an attempt to hide her blush, she looked towards the ground, her hair falling in her face.

"Now, _love_ , what do you say we get you out of this weather?" He says the word 'love' and she can instantly feel her heart rate pick up again. God, she felt like such a child, blushing when he gave her her jacket, and getting butterflies when he called he a pet name; she was becoming someone else entirely - and whoever she was becoming, it was not the Emma she knew.

"Sure." She responded, and began to walk with Killian as he headed away from the docks.

"So… something fun…" She said, letting her sentence trail off in anticipation of his response.

"Sailing." He smiled, turning to look at her as they walked.

"Sailing?" She challenged, "In this weather?"

"Well, there wasn't any snow when I left you the note. But of course you show up on the one day when Storybrooke is consumed by a blizzard." She could see him laugh to himself a little big, as she slowly began to piece it together. He must not have just left the note there yesterday - he could have left it a couple weeks ago for all she knew. In all the commotion with work, she figured she'd probably forgotten to check to mail - or maybe she had checked it and she'd missed his note - either way, she couldn't remember.

"So you mean you left the note -"

"Two weeks ago. I have to admit, a part of me started to believe that you weren't going to show up."

Had it really been two weeks that the note had been in her mailbox? If it had been, she felt terrible for making Killian wait so long, though in her defense, she hadn't actually _read_ it until last night. That was the other thing. The note had said 'tomorrow', which meant one of two things: either Killian had only put it in her mailbox yesterday _or_ he'd put it in two weeks ago, and showed up to the docks at exactly two in the afternoon every single day since.

"But it said ' _tomorrow'_ on it." Emma challenged once more.

"Correct. It also said two in the afternoon. The first day, I figured you just hadn't gotten it. So I showed up the next day. And the day after. And the one after that." The two turned onto main street in their walking, passing the big clock tower.

"Are you saying you've been at the docks _every single day_ at two in the afternoon in hopes I would show up?" She pressed.

"If that _was_ what I did, would that be completely pathetic?" He cocked his head to one side.

"Just a little," She crinkled her nose in teasing, before adding "but it would also be kind of…" she was about to say 'cute' before realizing that she was going way too far with the whole 'flirting' thing. Luckily for her, he finished her sentence.

"Dashing? Charming?" He said playfully, before turning the corner once more, onto a street with shops on it.

"Well, either way, I didn't get your letter until last night. I'd been busy with work so I hadn't been able to check my mail. Though I can't say I'm entirely to blame - who even leaves letters anymore? You're going to need to come up with a better form of communication that was invented after the dawn of the twentieth century, Killian." She joked.

"Ah right, you're the _sheriff._ Must be a busy job. Storybrooke _is_ a dangerous place after all…" He jested back.

Right as she was about to formulate some sort of response about the recent burglaries, he turned to face one of the stores.

"Here we are!" He said, his tone of voice carrying a slight hint of excitement.

Emma took in the sight in front of her. It was a store that she'd passed by hundreds of times, but never gone in. In the window were two displays of old books in glass cases on either side of the door. One of the class cases was filled to the brim with children's halloween books, and had a sign that said 'Spooky Reads!' In big, comic letters. The other case was filled with recent best-sellers, some with slightly torn pages or dog-eared folds. The sign that hung above the door read 'The Book Nook' In big letters, with 'Storybrooke's famous second hand bookstore!' Written in smaller print underneath.

"The Book Nook?" Emma turned to face Killian, raising one of her eyebrows at him, "this is your fun idea?"

"Well, my fun idea _was_ sailing, but since _somebody_ waited until there was a blizzard to show up, this is the next best thing." He joked, before adding, "Come on, it'll be fun!"

The bell by the door rang as he held the door open for her, and she stepped into the bookstore, finally getting out of the snowy air outside. The bookstore was warm, and smelt of old parchment; the comforting scent of old books. There were books everywhere, lining the walls, and sitting on shelves that stretched all the way to the back of the store, where a spiral staircase led up to the second floor. The store was quiet, and played soft music throughout it. On the cashier stand a small sign read 'browse all you like - if you purchase anything, please leave the money in provided can'. Next to the sign, predictably, was a metal soup can, with a slot cut into the top. Leave it to Storybrooke to have a bookstore based entirely off of trust.

"So?" Killian asked, as he dusted the fresh layer of snow off of his shoulders, "What do you think?"

"Well it's a nice store but what are we going to-" she began to ask, before being cut off as Killian grabbed her by the hand and pulled her towards the back of the store.

"Look, here." He said, stopping at the section marked 'poetry'.

"My mother used to bring me to a bookstore just like this when I was younger. We would go through all the poetry books and read them to each other, and my brother Liam of course, and then once we had read every single poem in the store, we could choose our favourite. Then, one we had our favourite picked out, we'd write it down so we could remember it when we got home, and read it if we ever got sad. I thought it would be fun to do something like that." He told her, truthfully, his eyes carrying a hint of something in them she'd not yet seen. It was as if, in this bookstore, suddenly he was a kid once more, dumbfounded at the wonder of it all.

"So you're telling me that the guy who wears _all black,_ who wears a _leather jacket_ , and picks up girls in coffee shops has a soft spot for poetry?" She can't help but smile at the outcome of today's events.

"I can understand how my dashing looks would deceive you, but people can surprise you, Swan, if you get to know them. Now pick a book. I'll pick one too." He smiled at her, before turning his attention back to the poetry books, before drawing on off of the shelf.

She scanned the bookshelf, before pulling one off that read 'best poets of the nineteenth century', and holding it up to Killian.

"Good. Now here," He said, sitting down on the floor and leaning back against the bookshelf, causing Emma not follow suit in return on the bookshelf facing opposite him, "Now we read them."

"You want me to read this?" She asked.

"Yup."

"Out loud?"

"Out loud."

"To you?" Killian nodded in response to her question.

"Killian these are all love poems."

"Fine, if you won't start, I will."

He cracked open the book, flipping to the first page.

"This one's Dickinson." He read aloud the poem to her, titled 'I dwell in possibility', and she instantly found herself lost in his voice. The way that the words sounded as they rolled off of his tongue, the way his breaths were steady in between the stanzas; he was obviously well versed in poetry. She found herself lost in the moment, in the atmosphere of it all.

Here they sat, alone in a bookshop, surrounded by silence and nothing more than the sound of each other's breathing and the sound of each other's voices, as they read out poem after poem to one another, the day slowly greeting evening with each passing minute. Outside the snow continued on, by morning they'd surely have a foot or so, and yet they carried on, completely unaffected. Somehow, in this bookshop, they'd created their own little bubble, their own little universe. In this universe nothing else existed except for the books and their words, poetry and verse, the beating of their hearts as they fell into sync.

"This one." Killian said, pointing to a poem and holding it up to her, after a good couple hours of reading various poems to one another, "This one is my favourite."

"W.B. Yeats?" Emma asked, her voice in a hushed tone.

"The Song of The Happy Shepherd."

"Read it to me." Emma said, looking Killian in the eye before giving him a small smile, "I want to hear it."

"Alright," he said, bringing up one of his knees to rest his arm on as he read.

"The woods of arcady are dead,

And over is her antique joy;

Of old the world on dreaming fed;

Grey truth is now her painted toy

Yet still she turns her restless head:

But O, sick children of the world,

Of all the many changing things

In dreary dancing past us whirled,

To the cracked tune that Chronos sings,

Words alone are certain good.

Where are now the warring kings,

Word be-mockers? — By the Rood

Where are now the warring kings?

An idle word is now their glory,

By the stammering schoolboy said,

Reading some entangled story:

The kings of the old time are dead;

The wandering earth herself may be

Only a sudden flaming word,

In clanging space a moment heard,

Troubling the endless reverie."

Killian stopped for a moment, pausing to look up at Emma, who urged him to keep going. He continued on with the poem, Emma getting lost in the words as they flowed together. When he came to an end, the two of them rested in silence for a moment, the mood of the poem still hanging in the air.

"Seek then no learning from the starry men, who follow with the optic glass, the whirling ways of the stars that pass." Emma said one of the lines form the poem aloud to feel them upon her own lips. There was something so captivating about it, something so _magical._

"So you liked it?" Killian asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's my favourite too." She responded, without a moment's hesitation.

"Then let's get it. You can keep it." He said, standing and extending out a hand to her as he did so, which she took, her palm instantly filling with warmth as it made contact with his.

The two walked up to the counter together, and Killian pulled a couple bills out of his pocket before stuffing them into the can. Emma turned to look outside. She hadn't realized it had gotten dark over the time they'd been in the bookstore together. The night sky was a bright pink, reflective of the snow and the light of the town.

"Shall I walk you home?" Killian offered.

"I'd like that." Emma said in response, as Killian held open the door for her.

She walked out into the snowy street, Killian catching up to her side, slowly falling into pace with her. He slid off his jacket as they walked, and wrapped it around her shoulders, it's familiar warmth and scent returning to her. They made small conversation as they walked, Emma clutching her book close to her chest to protect it from the snow.

"Well, this is me," Emma said, as they arrived at her apartment door.

"Aye. I know - I sent your letter here, remember?"

"Yeah about that - how did you find out where I lived?"

"You drive the sheriff's car. It's not hard to find a person when their job description is labeled on the car they drive."

"Okay, fair enough." Emma said with a small laugh, glancing at the sheriff's car which now sat covered in a layer of snow.

"I had a good time today Killian, thank you." She smiled at him, before sliding his jacket off of her shoulders, and stepping closer to pass it to him.

"I'm glad you had a good time, Swan." he whispered, his face not more than a foot away from hers as he accepted the jacket.

She could feel his closeness to her face, as his was illuminated by the dim glow given off by the streetlight as it settled against the pink sky. Inside her chest, she could feel something constricting, along with the pound of her heart as it pumped blood throughout her body. She could feel her cheeks get warm as he moved ever so slightly closer, his eyes remaining locked on hers.

Emma wanted nothing more than to kiss him; to break the distance that rested between their lips and press hers up against his, to feel his warmth and press her chest up against his so that she could feel the beat of his heart as it fell into sync with hers. She wanted nothing more than to let her arms trail around his, to run her fingers through his hair, to pull him close and never let go, never lose his heat, never break apart.

And yet, when he began to lean in, she broke away from him, taking a step back before his lips could make contact with hers. As badly as she'd wanted to kiss him, she still felt that something was wrong, that something was _off_ and for that reason alone, she was unable to do it.

"I'm sorry Killian I… I should get going." She took another step back, away from Killian, "I'd love to do this again sometime though."

She gave a small smile to him as he stood under the lamplight, snow swirling around him. She felt bad for just leaving him like that but something within her told her that now wasn't the right time - that this was all happening too soon and too fast, that she'd fallen before she'd even gotten the chance to know the guy.

"Goodnight, Killian." She said, before opening the door to her apartment building, and walking inside, away from the cold, her heart still pounding and cheeks still warm, the book he'd given her still firmly pressed against her chest.


	6. Soft Reverie

Emma had never quite known family as she'd imagined it'd been. Her youth was spent drifting from foster house to foster house, never remaining in one place for more than a couple months. As a result, holidays had always held a certain _emptiness_ to them. While most other kids would spend thanksgiving or christmas surrounded by family members, Emma became accustomed to spending them alone.

But now things were different. Living in Storybrooke, her list of people that she considered to be 'family' seemed to be almost never-ending. While Mary Margaret and David weren't actually related to her, they might as well have been, given their determination to include her in every family gathering.

Emma sat at a barstool in their apartment, her mug of tea resting on the island in front of her. All around her, people drifted through the room, small conversations between some of Mary Margaret and David's closest friends being held in hushed tones as Mary Margaret put the finishing touches on the golden turkey. Mary Margaret obviously had a different idea about what she considered to be a 'small gathering'. While Emma figured that most people would consider a 'small gathering' to be anywhere from five to six people, the crowd of approximately twenty people that filled the room indicated that Mary Margaret had a different idea. Nonetheless, Emma enjoyed the company; she mostly enjoyed watching the crowd drift through the room, people floating around the large table that had been set up in the middle of the small apartment in order to have conversations with friends old and new. The room was filled with the rich aroma of the dinner that was to be had; large bowls of fluffy white mashed potatoes with butter, turkey stuffing, sweet freshly baked golden bread rolls, and deep red tangy cranberry sauce among other things that decorated the table. In the corner of the apartment, a record span, playing Frank Sinatra songs that set the mood perfectly. Emma thought about the evening, the gathering of a group of people she knew and loved, and decided that this was it- the family she'd been looking for all along. It was the closest that she'd likely get to a family, and while it wasn't exactly what she'd envisioned as a little girl, she wouldn't trade it for anything.

Emma clutched her mug, drawing in its warmth through her palms, along with the warmth of the room. She'd just finished a conversation with Elsa, who'd eventually drifted over towards Ruby who sat having a conversation with Regina on the sofa. In her lap, Emma held the poetry book that Killian had given her, not a week before. It was heavy in her lap; she'd not been able to part with it for the better half of the week. From time to time she'd find herself sneaking away to abandoned corners of rooms, where the noise of crowds was lulled, to sneak in a read through of another poem. While Yeats remained her favourite, she soon grew an appreciation for Eliot, followed by Neruda, and eventually Wilde as well. She'd even considered inviting Killian to dinner tonight, she knew Mary Margaret wouldn't have minded, but given that she didn't even have his number, was unable to. So instead she sat alone by the counter, enjoying the hustle and bustle of her friends as the anticipation for the meal ahead slowly grew. While she would have enjoyed to have Killian here now, there was also something somewhat calming and sweet about remaining in the presence of friends as close as family; their company was enough to satisfy her at the given moment.

The night grew old, and the sky fell dark as the group of friends gathered around the table, and began to share stories of childhood, reminiscing of fond memories with one another, filling the room with a lively air produced from the stories told. There was something almost dreamlike about the entire atmosphere to Emma, as if it existed solely as a soft reverie she'd once dreamed of as a child, but had never actually expected to live through. As she sat quietly, enjoying the sweet and savoury food, she watched as each moment blurred into the next, as if each moment could be perfectly captured in a watercolour painting, and then laid over the next, to create these moments as they were received by her eyes.

Eventually, once everyone was filled to the brim, and desert had been served, people slowly began to make their departure, those with younger children leaving earlier than those without. Soon enough, all of David's old records had been played, and returned to their covers, and a blanket of stars rested gently atop the rooftops of snow-covered Storybrooke. Emma helped Mary Margaret and David clean up the dishes in the kitchen, washing and drying each piece of delicately painted china before returning them to their glass cupboards where they would rest until the next holiday. Eventually Emma and Elsa were the only two guests that remained in the apartment, Elsa holding Mary Margaret and David's son, Neal, who was contently asleep in her arms.

"Well," Emma said, as she put away the last dish into the cupboard, catching a glimpse of the analog clock hung on the wall, "It's getting late, so I guess I'd better get going." Goodbyes were always bittersweet, but Emma could feel a drowsiness settling in, as she suppressed a yawn.

Mary Margaret nodded, following Emma as she made her way towards the coat rack.

"Looks like a real storm out there," David commented as he trailed towards the window, where large flakes of snow whipped in every direction, hastily making their way to the fresh blanket of snow on the ground.

"Oh gosh," Mary Margaret added as she too turned towards the window, "Oh, don't go out in that, that looks horrendous, you'll get in an accident. You can stay in the living room - you too Elsa - I'll go get the blankets." Emma didn't have a moment to insist that she could make it home safely, before Mary Margaret had breezed past her, and returned from upstairs moments later, a pile of knit blankets in hand.

Minutes later, Mary Margaret had set up two makeshift beds in the living room, one on each sofa. Emma put the kettle on, and set out four mugs with chamomile tea bags in them as the kettle came to a slow boil. After gathering together in the living room, the four of them sipped their tea as the storm outside continued on, and Neal slept in the cradle in the next room. By the time they'd all finished their drinks, the warm apartment air and the comfort of friends settled upon them like a cloud that would soon put them all into an unshakeable drowsiness. Not more than five minutes after they'd finished their teas, Mary Margaret and David retired to bed, and Emma and Elsa followed suit.

Emma was torn from her heavy slumber by the buzzing of her phone, as it sat on the carpet next to her bed.

Disoriented, she fumbled around in the dark to grasp the glowing phone screen as it lit up - caller unidentified.

She raised the phone to her ear, and pressed the green phone button, wondering who on earth could be calling at two am, in the middle of a snowstorm as bad as this. Worried, she figured that it was no doubt somehow related to the storm, maybe someone was stuck in their car or hurt.

"Hello?" She said quietly, in an attempt not to wake Elsa.

"Is this the sheriff?" A panicked woman's voice greeted her on the other end of the line.

"Yes… it is… what can I do for you?"

"My house had a - a break in and - There's a man - he - he's really hurt he - he says his name is Killian."


End file.
